A La Mode
by LadyPaperclip
Summary: Peter wants revenge on Nathan. Isaac's just in it for the pancakes. Oneshot, slash, IsaacPeter


**Author's Notes:** This is written as an AU alternative to the brunch scene in 1x07 _Nothing To Hide_, 'cause I couldn't resist. Obviously I in no way own Heroes (because if I did most of my favourite Heroes wouldn't be currently Made Of Dead) so suing me will just make me sad. Written as part of my Isaac Mendez claim on lj's fanfic100. Feedback is made of shiny :)

**A La Mode**

"Your brother is going to kill you," Isaac says, worrying his lower lip between his teeth.

"No, he's not," Peter replies in a long-suffering kind of way, as he has done every single time Isaac's brought this up (four and counting; and they've only been in the cab twelve minutes).

"He's a politician, he can have people killed whenever he wants to," Isaac continues a little desperately. "It's one of the perks!"

"Nathan is _not_ going to have me murdered," Peter says patiently.

_You don't know that_, Isaac thinks. But if Peter is determined to be so reckless then Isaac is not going to argue with him. It's not his fault the guy is wilfully naïve.

It's the first time in years he doesn't smell like turpentine – he's wearing some kind of aftershave, actually, found it in the back of his bathroom cabinet – and Peter helped him out with the whole shaving thing, so he hasn't cut his face to shreds for once. He's even wearing a t-shirt that doesn't have paint on it, which was pretty damn hard to track down. Even if he says so himself, Isaac doesn't scrub up too badly, Simone would be proud if only she weren't keeping herself at a safe distance.

Ok, so he's slightly high, but otherwise he'd be shaking and coughing in an unhealthy way and that would definitely defeat the object of this whole exercise. Well, whatever that actually _is_.

"So," he begins, "What exactly are you hoping to _achieve_?"

Peter rolls his eyes, apparently sick of Isaac's worrying. He's dressed far too casually, and there's a hard set to his jaw. For about the twentieth time this morning, Isaac curses himself for being stupid enough to get himself embroiled in the Petrelli brothers' quest to one-up each other.

Before Isaac can push for some kind of proper answer, the cab pulls up outside the biggest house Isaac has ever seen. Well, maybe not, but it's ridiculously large anyway.

"Your family _live_ here?" he asks incredulously. "Jesus."

Peter ignores him, shoving a couple of bills at the cab driver, and getting out. He turns back.

"Ready?" he asks, holding out a hand.

Even though he knows he shouldn't, Isaac takes it. Peter's hand is warm and firm and doesn't seem to be shaking or sweating or anything; he doesn't seem nervous at all. Peter pulls Isaac out of the cab and leads him up to huge, curly iron gates.

"This is probably the stupidest idea anyone has had in the history of ever," Isaac tells him in an undertone. "It is going to cost your brother his congress campaign, and then he will have you slaughtered."

"Did you paint that?" Peter asks, turning to look at Isaac so fast that a lock of his amusing boyband hair falls in his eyes.

"…No," Isaac admits.

"Well then." Peter smiles, the charming smile that makes it impossible to say 'no' to him, even when he's saying fucking stupid things like _I know! You're my disreputable boyfriend, let's go introduce you to my family when my brother's trying to do an article on how awesome he is! That's the perfect way to pay him back for telling everyone I'm a suicidal headcase at a press conference!_ Isaac should have said 'no', he really should have done. It's a bit too late for that now, though, since Peter is leading him inside with his hand held in a surprisingly vicelike grip.

"I want to go home," Isaac mumbles, and Peter ignores him, pulling him through the house – it's scarily big and man, he had no _idea_ Peter's family was this loaded, why the hell was he looking after Charles in the first place – and out onto the back porch. A group of people that Isaac is going to assume are Peter's family are sitting around a table loaded with food, and currently most of them are glaring at Peter.

Nathan Petrelli in particular has a look that makes Isaac want to look down and make sure he's not having holes lasered through his stomach. He thought Nathan looked dangerous on his campaign posters – mouth bared in a toothy smile that didn't say _I will take care of your city, honest_ so much as _I will go out on nights when there's a full moon and eat your children_ – but that's nothing compared to the look he's giving his little brother.

Peter's grin widens and Isaac decides then and there that Peter really has no sense of self preservation at _all_.

"Hi guys, sorry we're late," Peter says brightly.

"We weren't sure you were going to make it this week, Pete," Nathan says in a voice that is surprisingly steady. Isaac is impressed; but then the man makes a living out of lying, so it figures he'd be good at it.

"Heidi didn't want me to miss it," Peter replies brightly. "And I wasn't going to pass up on the chance to tell the _Journal_ just what a supportive big brother I have."

Isaac wants to run. He wants to run away because whatever it is that the Petrelli brothers are trying to do to each other, he does not want to be part of it. He wants to get the hell out of here while he still can, and, as though sensing this, Peter grips his hand even harder.

"And who is _this_?" asks a woman who has to be Peter's mom. She's more terrifying than Nathan, in a quiet sort of way, and Isaac decides that, actually, _she'll_ be the one to have Peter murdered for ruining his brother's interview. This knowledge isn't comforting, for some strange reason.

"This is Isaac," Peter provides helpfully. "I thought this would be the time to introduce him to you guys, you know?"

He discreetly digs his fingernails into Isaac's hand, and, realising that there actually is no way out of this, Isaac obediently shrugs and tries to look mildly sociable.

"Hey."

There is a moment when Isaac thinks the combined glares of Peter's family are actually going to kill him, and then he realises he spends far too much time writing comic books. Although it has to be said that Peter has some kind of random and illogical superpower and Nathan can apparently _fly_, so it's not _entirely_ outside the realm of possibility that their mom can murder people with her eyes.

Thinking things like that is not going to make this any easier.

Peter's mom stands up, smoothing her hands automatically over her skirt. She has no intention of letting Isaac ruin this brunch, he realises, and his paranoia increases tenfold.

"I'm Angela Petrelli," she says, leaning over the table to shake Isaac's hand. She has a frighteningly firm grip, and Isaac resists the urge to check she hasn't broken any fingers when she finally lets go.

"Isaac Mendez," he replies. "I've heard a lot about you."

"Have you?" Angela raises an eyebrow at Peter.

"…Yeah?" Isaac finishes lamely. Peter pokes him in the back, and this was such a _stupid_ idea.

Isaac would rather be anywhere but here. You know, anywhere: lying in a pool of his own vomit in an alley; overdosed on heroin, covered in black paint and painting an apocalypse on his floor; hell, being exploded _during_ that apocalypse; any or all of the above. He knows he's kind of self destructive, it comes with the whole drug-addict thing, but he has no excuse for getting into a situation like this. He could barely handle social politics when he was clean and sober and a hell of a lot more naïve than he is now. He doesn't stand a chance; the Petrellis are going to eat him _alive_.

Isaac smiles weakly, and hopes to God that they don't eat him _literally_.

"Well, I'm sure we can squeeze in one more," Angela says, with a brittle little smile, and Isaac opens his mouth to say that that's _fine_, he's not actually _staying_, when someone behind him provides a chair and Peter pushes him into it.

"Can I have a word, Pete?" Nathan asks, voice so sharply bright and Isaac manages to push down a wince. If Nathan spoke to _him_ like that, he would be running in the opposite direction as fast as he could. Peter, however, just smiles back and obediently walks over. If they both get out of this alive, Isaac decides that he is going to make Peter a t-shirt that says _Masochist_ in really fucking big, red letters, and just leave it at that.

"So, Mr Mendez," the reporter says, leaning across the table with a shark-like smile – though he can't even _compete_ with how terrifying the Petrelli family is, so Isaac is not going to let that bother him, "How did you and Peter meet?"

"Through a mutual friend," Isaac replies, deciding he might as well play along because Peter has taken away all his other options. "Simone Deveaux."

The journalist looks slightly surprised; but Isaac is really quite good at pretending he's respectable. Of course, he _isn't_, but no one else needs to know that.

"She's my art dealer," Isaac provides in a vague attempt to be helpful. A sparkling white plate and some very shiny silverware have appeared from somewhere and there is a platter of _pancakes_ sitting just opposite him that he desperately wants. If he is going to be forced to sit here and put up with this, then he at least wants there to be pancakes.

"So you're an artist."

Isaac nods, staring at the pancakes and wondering why he doesn't have telekinesis instead of some pretty shaky and unreliable precognition.

"Comic books, mainly," he says on autopilot. "I'm just starting to make a name for myself."

If Peter does not come back soon, he is going to run far, far away, agreement be damned. He is going to take the pancakes and run for his damn life.

As if hearing Isaac's mental plea, the Petrelli brothers return to the table. Peter's cheek is flushed red, like someone punched it, but his eyes are glittering with something akin to triumph. The guy is a _madman_, a fucking lunatic, and Isaac can't believe he's only just noticed this. Though he has to admit that Nathan Petrelli can't be feeling entirely homicidal, because Peter isn't bleeding, which means that Nathan must've taken that big gold ring off before he punched his brother.

Maybe they will make it out of here alive after all. They might not make it out _whole_, but they'll probably still be breathing.

"Sorry," Peter says brightly, "Nathan was just giving me an earful for showing up in cords."

It's the stupidest lie Isaac has ever heard, and it's clear from the faces of everyone else at the table that they don't believe it either, but no one pushes the subject. It's the ultimate cliché; all of them are just sucking in air through their teeth, waiting for the ice to crack. It's really just a contest to see who'll start drowning first.

And Simone wonders why Isaac is an antisocial bastard who spends most of his life trying to get the hell away from people.

Peter slumps down into the chair beside Isaac's, and Isaac resists the urge to lean out of the way of the death glares being sent in their direction. He _can't_ resist the urge to give Peter a swift kick on the ankle, however, and all he gets is a bright smile in return.

"Well, we should get started before this lovely food gets cold," Nathan grates, that smile immovable on his face, and Isaac wonders, not for the first time, if Nathan is actually some kind of mannequin who can walk and talk for reasons not entirely natural. He could be some kind of robot designed by Angela Petrelli for world domination purposes.

"What would you like?" Peter asks, turning to Isaac. Isaac sends him a look that tells Peter that if he even _thinks_ of using any term of endearment he is going to find himself with a black eye. Peter just smirks that slightly crooked grin of his in reply.

"Pass the pancakes, please," Isaac grits, and when they're put in front of him along with a pitcher of syrup he does his best not to pile them into his plate with indecent haste. He definitely hasn't eaten for a couple of days; but that's no excuse to lose his head and act like a complete idiot.

What adds sort of insult to injury is that they're really fucking _good_ pancakes as well, with that awesome consistency the ones he tries to make when slightly buzzed but mostly jonesing never quite manage. Well, this whole power-struggle Peter and Nathan are amusing themselves with probably doesn't require much input from Isaac, so he can just sit here and eat, and let them get on with ripping each other apart or whatever it is they're trying to do. It's getting slightly ambiguous, in any case.

The reporter is bringing up some kind of _affair_ that Nathan had in the past; his wife goes all stiff and sharp and sends her kids off to play in the stupidly large backyard, and Nathan, weirdly enough, sends Peter a pleading look. Peter blinks back innocently enough, and allows Heidi to say her piece about _everything being forgiven_.

"Do you want some coffee or something?" Peter asks Isaac quietly.

It would be a pretty dumb idea to combine large amounts of caffeine and sugar, seeing as how he's already considerably jittery, but Isaac shrugs and says: "Sure." After all, Peter promised there would be free food, otherwise Isaac probably wouldn't be here in the first place.

His mouth feels embarrassingly sticky, and he licks his lips, tasting cloying amounts of syrup. Peter puts the coffee pot down in front of him, and then smiles slightly.

"You missed a spot," he says softly, and before Isaac can kick him or stab him with the nearest piece of cutlery, Peter leans in and presses their lips together. Isaac is _not ok_ with this; Peter's entire family _and a reporter_ are watching, and Isaac does _not_ want to be the distraction, just 'cause Nathan Fucking Petrelli can't keep it in his pants.

He's going to tell Peter this in a moment, he really is. Because Peter has a warm hand cupping his jaw and he's feeling slightly claustrophobic and, free pancakes or otherwise, he is tired of being used as a pawn in the utterly incomprehensible game Peter and Nathan are playing. But Peter's tongue sweeps out across Isaac's lower lip, catching whatever bit of syrup he missed and then Peter's sitting back and smirking in an entirely too satisfied manner.

All questions on Nathan's affair have ended, and although everyone else looks faintly shocked, Nathan sends Peter a thankful look. The stakes have changed in whatever game it is they're playing.

Isaac stamps on Peter's foot. Peter just gives him a serene smile, though the way his hand suddenly clenches on the edge of the table implies that it really did hurt. _Good_.

Isaac gets the opportunity to eat in silence for a while, listening to Nathan Petrelli roll off his I'm-going-to-fix-New-York-no-really-I-am spiel, and it's just as nauseating as his campaign video which always manages to be on the TV when Isaac turns his set on. And it's distinctly sweet how everyone at the table is nodding like they believe it when really, they all know exactly how much of a manipulative dick Nathan actually is. And this is exactly why Isaac has no patience whatsoever for politics.

Sooner or later, though, the heroin is going to start wearing off or he's just going to stand up and announce what Peter is _really_ doing, and he thinks he's played his part for long enough. He needs out of here before the tension gives him hives or something.

"I've got an appointment at one," he begins, "With Simone. About my next show at the gallery."

It's not a _complete_ lie, except that Simone isn't talking to him any more and so cancelled the meeting. She's going to show the paintings he's got in whatever way she likes, without any negotiation at all. But once upon a time, he _did_ have a meeting.

"I'll walk you out," Peter offers, getting to his feet.

"It was nice meeting all of you," Isaac lies, with an attempt at the charming smile that used to be second nature before the whole _drug-addiction_ thing. He must carry it off to a certain extent, because he doesn't get horrified looks in return.

"Maybe I'll come to the exhibition," the reporter offers.

Isaac really wouldn't put it past him; he manages to keep his smile going, and says: "That would be great."

Peter puts a hand on his arm in a way that might be supposed to look intimate, but Isaac can immediately tell that it's a warning. He's behaved remarkably well, he thinks, but trails after Peter anyway, closing the doors behind them.

The minute they're out of earshot, Isaac heaves out a long sigh.

"I cannot believe I let you do that to me," he groans.

Peter laughs. "It wasn't that bad, was it?"

"It was terrifying," Isaac replies. "And I've changed my mind. Your brother isn't going to have you killed."

"See-" Peter begins, but Isaac interrupts.

"He's going to have _me_ killed," he corrects him.

"You're so paranoid," Peter mutters.

"Comes with the heroin addict territory," Isaac replies easily, shrugging.

"Nathan is not going to have you killed," Peter says tiredly, opening the front door. "And really, I don't think it's that bad. You've pretended to be my boyfriend for a couple of hours and you're going to be well-paid for it, so stop bitching."

"I don't remember kissing being part of the bargain," Isaac mutters, as they begin to walk back to the street. He does sound a little like a whiny, virginal teenager; but then Peter positively _promised_ that there wouldn't be any inappropriate touching. They barely like each other, after all.

"It wasn't _that_ horrible an experience," Peter tells him. Isaac sighs.

"Just give me the cash before your mom comes out with a shotgun."

"My mom wouldn't do that!" Peter exclaims, looking a little hurt.

"No, she wouldn't want to get her hands dirty," Isaac agrees. "Face it, Peter, your family want me dead now."

"I'm sure they'll get used to you," Peter suggests.

"I am never doing this for you again," Isaac informs him tightly. "Not ever. No matter how much money you offer me. Find someone else to pretend to be your boyfriend next time you want to piss off your family."

Peter rolls his eyes, reaching into his pocket and withdrawing a wad of cash. "We agreed on two hundred, right?"

Isaac hates himself for saying it, but before he can stop himself, he says: "I'll do it for one-sixty." When Peter smirks, he adds quickly: "I did eat a hell of a lot of pancakes."

"Sure." Peter really doesn't believe him, which is maddening. "Come on, admit it, you enjoyed yourself a little."

Isaac ignores him, and hails down a cab.

"Bye, then," he says, taking the one-sixty from Peter and folding it into his pocket.

"We'd better say goodbye properly," Peter tells him calmly. "If I know my family, they're probably watching through the windows to check I didn't-"

"Hire the first junkie desperate enough to pretend to be your boyfriend?" Isaac finishes brightly.

Peter smirks. "Exactly."

Isaac sighs. "Fine. Go ahead."

"You're so ungracious," Peter mumbles, but he slides a hand into Isaac's hair and kisses him worryingly thoroughly. At least when they were doing it at the brunch table Peter gave Isaac the idea that it was entirely for show; now he's pressed up against Isaac, tongue pushing into his mouth, and for some stupid reason Isaac isn't pushing him away. In fact, if he didn't know himself better, he'd say he was getting into it.

Eventually, after what is almost _definitely_ too long, Peter pulls back and smiles.

"Worth every cent," he says.

"Way to make me feel like a whore," Isaac replies brightly, pulling open the cab door and folding himself inside. He tries his best to ignore the frustrating truth that, actually, unfortunately, he kind of _is_.

It's only when he looks back at Peter returning to his house that he realises something. The angle that they were standing at means that whichever window Peter's family went to, they wouldn't be able to see him saying goodbye to Isaac. Which means that…

Which means that Peter was manipulating more than one person today, and Isaac let himself get completely played. And he can't believe he's only just working this out _now_.

The cab driver gives him a distinctly worried look in the rear-view mirror as Isaac starts laughing. In spite of himself, he's kind of impressed.

"Petrelli, you _bastard_," he murmurs.

**End**


End file.
